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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726363">The Dorsia</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallissa/pseuds/Wallissa'>Wallissa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Peaky Blinders (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Valentine's Day Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:33:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,453</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallissa/pseuds/Wallissa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfie has plans for Valentine's Day. Tommy has plans for Valentine's Day.<br/>They probably should've talked about those plans in advance to avoid said plans clashing, but they make it work.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Dorsia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a pity, but despite waking up together most days now, they don’t really have much time for each other in the morning. Alfie himself prefers having a quiet-calm breakfast, strong-sweet tea and golden, butter-dripping toast, but Tommy is the type to read the news while sipping coffee in the kitchen, hair still a little wet and smelling of cedar and citrus. It’s a lovely sight, but not a terribly inviting one. Especially not since it’s not unusual for Tommy to answer calls already, looking tired and pale in the morning light and giving clipped answers to whoever is rude enough to be on the other line.<br/>
To make it short, mornings aren’t very romantic.</p><p>Which is, of course, why Alfie comes over to the club at four thirty in the afternoon to snatch a slightly startled Tommy right out of Michael’s grasp and transport him back to the car. In true Prince Charming fashion, he ushers Tommy onto the backseat and locks the doors, pulling out of the parking lot in less than five minutes and without much explanation. Very effective, if he were to give himself credit.</p><p>“What’s that, then?” Tommy sits up from where he’d slipped on the leather seats when Alfie’s taken a sharp turn. “I didn’t know you could drive.”</p><p>“I prefer not to.” Alfie runs a yellow light and glances in the rear-view mirror to catch Tommy’s expression.</p><p>Unimpressed. “I’d prefer that too, I think. Why am I locked in?”</p><p>“I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t try to hop out.”</p><p>“I don’t have a death wish. Are we going somewhere in particular?”</p><p>“Home.”</p><p>“Home,” Tommy repeats, sounding like he’s accepted his fate. It’s sweet, considering Alfie didn’t specify whose home he was talking about, specifically. And well, it’s a small thing to get hung up about, but it’s Valentine’s Day and Alfie just saved his Sweetheart from a soul-sucking demon. When he glances in the rear-view mirror again, Tommy sits with his eyes closed, head tilted back a little and resting against the leather seats, sharp cheekbones and dark circles under his eyes. Delicate lashes, a pale throat. Trusting Alfie to get him to someplace safe.</p><p>And usually, Alfie would take them back to his own place. It’s convenient, especially today. But last month, Tommy gave him the keys to the apartment, in a very cool and collected manner, and Alfie has been planning on doing this very thing ever since. </p><p>He likes Tommy’s family home in Birmingham since there’s so much to snoop around in. Photos, little souvenirs left by a few generations of Shelby’s. Just enough toys to endanger everyone daring enough to wander around unchaperoned. Leave it to the Peaky Blinder offspring to start killing before they learn how to read.</p><p>In contrast, the London flat is Tommy, distilled. Which means, of course, that it’s incredibly nouveau-riche and borderline tacky at times. There’s some attempt at art here and there, a walk-in closet, a bathroom with one of those steamy-open shower concepts, a kitchen that never looks particularly useable. When Alfie’d visited him for the first time, he’d taken one look around, gesturing at the polished wooden floors. “Why are there copies of the Style section all over the place? Do you... Do you have a dog? A little chow or something?”<br/>
Tommy had looked at him with his ice-hot eyes, flushed and a little kiss-drunk. But he’d licked his lips and had said, in an eerily realistic accent “No, Allen.” And then he’d laughed, shoulders shaking and one hand raised as if to hide the blinding joy of that laugh, his dimples and his sparkling eyes, and he’d shoved Alfie’s shoulder, and called him a “rude fucking guest” and Alfie had known that he’s so, so in love with this man.</p><p>Alfie checks his rear-view mirror to make sure he didn’t jostle Tommy out of his relaxed posture, and finds him looking back at him, eyes half-lidded, long lashes. It’s an awful feat to tear his eyes away to concentrate on the road, but Alfie manages and thankfully, they make it back to Tommy’s apartment in one piece.</p><p>“So?” Tommy hasn’t slipped out of his coat yet and he’s giving Alfie a look that indicates that he means business. “What are we doing here?”</p><p>“Ah, yeah.” Alfie nods solemnly. “You may recall, right, that you gave me a key to your little murder den here, yeah? Sometime in January, right?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“So what I did, see, was, I was thinking, that based on that, it wouldn’t be too daring to assume that you wouldn’t be against spending today with me, yeah?  With all the, the Valentine’s nonsense and all that.”</p><p>Tommy nods, just as solemnly. “I think that could be arranged.” He’s using that voice that indicates that he’s playing it cool, but if Alfie were to reach out to touch him, he’d feel his pulse fluttering against his fingertips.</p><p>Alfie nods. “Right. Good. I used your kitchen, by the way.”</p><p>“My kitchen.”</p><p>They’re being idiots about this, it’s painful. “Yes. You better check.” </p><p>That finally has Tommy moving, making his way into the kitchen to take a look at the damage done. The damage, of course, is a cake sitting on the counter. Fruit cake, golden-brown and still warm, making the air honey-drip in its sweet scent.<br/>
“I know you technically don’t consume anything but sushi and caffeine, Love, but I thought I’d try to convince you to make an exception.”</p><p>“You bake?” Tommy steps closer to the counter, fingertips brushing the plate as he leans in.<br/>
“I run a bakery, Love.” Alfie steps up next to him and rests his palm next to Tommy’s, their fingers brushing on the cool-untouchable marble countertop. “What, you think just because we use that bakery to sling cocaine, we don’t bake in there? For shame. Now, Sweetheart, would you like to spend the evening with me and this cake?”</p><p>“Oh,” Tommy says, frowning thoughtfully at the cake.</p><p>“Oh?” Alfie raises a brow at him. Hardly the kind of answer he’d hoped for. “What’s that, Love?”</p><p>“No, I – I was going to ask –“ Tommy frowns a little, clearly unhappy with his own inability to express himself. “I have dinner reservations.”</p><p>See, that’s the thing. Tommy Shelby has the ability – and that should be worrying, really – to fill Alfie with such a surge of happiness, just by barely hinting at something. It’s truly incredible. He brushes his shoulder against Tommy’s, sparking warmth down his spine despite both of them still wearing their coats. “At the Dorsia?” </p><p>Tommy exhales through his nose, but his mouth twitches a little. “No, not the fucking Dorsia.”</p><p>“Ah, too bad.” Alfie rests his hand on the small of Tommy’s back, which is arguably one of the best places for his hand to be at any given time. “Well, Love, what about this. We have some tea, yeah? And then, at seven, or whenever you have that reservation, we go and have dinner. I don’t see how that’s a fucking problem, Love.”</p><p>Tommy hums, shakes his head. “That’s not going to work.”</p><p>“What?” For a second, Alfie is almost taken aback by that refusal, by the thoughtful look in Tommy’s eyes. “And pray the fuck tell why not?”</p><p>Here, Tommy glances at him, a little flick of his big eyes, before he returns his gaze to the cake. “I don’t think I would want to leave.” He pauses for a moment. “We could just watch a film. I should have some pasta, we could make do with that.”</p><p>Alfie’s met a ton of people in his life, and he’s been with a fair number of them, but nothing he’s ever felt compares to that ridiculous, sparkly-hot feeling in his chest. “You have reservations at some no doubt awfully posh place, Love, with the white shirts and the fifteen types of red wine, and the venison and the tiny portions, and you’d rather stay in and watch a film?”</p><p>Tommy nods, still looking at the cake, then turns his head to look at Alfie, and nods again. “Yes.”</p><p>So that’s exactly what they do.</p><p>Alfie wraps himself in one of the blankets that smell like Tommy, and Tommy sits between his thighs and wraps himself in Alfie, and they crumble their way through half the cake and about 45 minutes of American Psycho, before Tommy tilts his head a little to brush his mouth against Alfie’s jaw. Outside, the London skyline glitters, and in front of them, the TV is flickering in violence and 80s music, but Tommy is warm in Alfie’s arms, and his sticky-sweet kisses taste like honey and ginger. It’s every reason to miss a reservation, in Alfie’s opinion.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The comment that makes Tommy laugh so hard is a quote from American Psycho. I could see modern Tommy enjoying an aesthetic somewhat resembling Patrick Bateman's - lavish modernism, newest tech, etc. But I also think he's got enough of a sense of humour to laugh at the comparison...<br/>The Dorsia is also a restaurant mentioned in AP.</p><p>Also: The detail that took the most time was the cake choice. As a German, I can imagine few things more lavish than a black forest gateau (whipped cream!! three layers of chocolate cake!! some kind of cherry schnapps or something I think!! cherries!! grated chocolate!!) (AN: I never liked that cake when I was little because me and whipped cream don't mix well, but it STILL holds a very dear place in my heart) BUT !!!! BUT! but then I thought that considering Tommy eats mostly Air(tm) and coffee, he'd probably just? faint? after taking one bite of that monster. Also it doesn't mix too well with tea I think. So I had to reconsider. </p><p>The plot for this was inspired by an anon prompt I was sent on my <a href="https://typinggently.tumblr.com/">writing tumblr</a> - you can find the ask <a href="https://typinggently.tumblr.com/post/190831605755/prompt-iii-for-tofie">here</a> :)</p><p>Since this fic is part of my spontaneous idea to write 5 Valentine's Day drabbles in three days, I didn't have time to elaborate on the smut. Just know that they fuck, please, and that it's very slow and sweet and sloppy. That's very important. I'm half-tempted to go into detail on that in the following days, but I'm not sure on the matter yet.<br/>Either way - this was a lot of fun to write and it really helped to get myself out of the slump I've been in for the past few days. It's been a mess and I'm glad that I've found a way to get some joy of writing back, so I'm not too miffed that this is a tad late :D </p><p>I hope you had as much fun reading as I had writing!! Have a great day &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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